


Roads Untraveled

by Saki_Lyn



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Amusement Park, F/M, Fast Cars, Gilbert is such a maniac, Illinois, Junk Food - Freeform, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Rollercoasters, Six Flags Great America, six flags, theme park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saki_Lyn/pseuds/Saki_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a whim, Gilbert decides to take you on a little trip to one of his favorite places: Six Flags: Great America. The resulting adventure is a mixture of fast cars, dizzying rollercoasters, lots of cotton candy, and the smell of rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roads Untraveled

_“If you do not know where you are going, any road will do.”_

\--Lewis Carroll

 

The wind whistles impatiently.

It transforms the strands of your hair into riding crops, all ceaselessly whipping your face. You reach back to retie your ponytail, but it’s a hopeless cause. The wind merely tears them loose again.

            You do wish he’d slow down.

            But of course, there is little chance of that. He’s having far too much fun – as any boy would. He laughs maniacally as he goes, urging his metal horse faster and faster. You glance at the speedometer. The needle breezes past 120. Miles per hour.

            “Gilbert, slow down! This isn’t the autobahn. You’re going to get us arrested,” you shout over the banshee wind.

            He turns to look at you, his shades concealing the insanity gleaming in his red irises. “Don’t you worry, sweets. The police’d never catch me!”

            With that, he floors it. The car bellows in response, almost as if in gratitude. That wouldn’t surprise you. It’s a Porsche 911 Carrera S Cabriolet. Agate silver. 400 hp. Its top track speed is 187 mph, and it goes from zero to sixty in four and a half seconds. It was _made_ to push limits. Just like its driver.

            You sigh, exasperated, but you know your efforts to be fruitless. He can’t (and won’t) hear you.

            “Where are we going, anyway?” you ask.

            He grins. “I told you, Buttercup. All in good time.”

            You grumble out a river of obscenities, but once again, the wind plucks them away before they reach your boyfriend’s ears.

You have been dating Gilbert Beilschmidt for well over two years now, but your relationship has yet to acquire a sense of ‘normalcy.’ You suspect this is perhaps due to the fact that the term ‘normal’ doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. He probably isn’t overly familiar with the expressions ‘consistent’ or ‘routine,’ either.

A sly smile finds its way to your lips. No matter. That had been what attracted you to the guy in the first place. His spontaneity. His unpredictability. He drags you into experiences you’d never end up in without him. He takes you places. He shows you things.

And if ever he strayed too far, you’ll always be there to bring him back to earth.

“Seriously, Gil. SLOW DOWN. We’re going to crash,” you inform him, calm but firm.

That gets him.

His gleam of ecstasy tarnishes a little, and gradually he eases the convertible back to a reasonable speed. Now you’re only speeding _twenty_ miles above the limit. Inside the nearby cars fellow motorists exhale sighs of relief.

“Sorry, (name). Didn’t know it bothered you so bad,” he says, sparing an arm to wrap around your shoulders. He squeezes you soothingly.

“S’okay. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself. Or me,” you add. “Car crashes are nasty business.”

“True that. But I can handle it. I lived through World War Two, didn’t I?”

“Yes, well, _I_ didn’t. And I sure as hell don’t want to try it.”

Gilbert detaches his arm. “Stop worrying so much, Buttercup. I’m much too awesome to let something like that happen to my girlfriend.”

You smile knowingly. “I know that, Gil. But sometimes things spiral out of control. They seem to have a particular tendency to do that around you. And, if and when something happens, it won’t be your fault, but it will still happen.”

“You’re so smart, Buttercup. Almost as awesome as me.”

No higher compliment can he pay.

 

 

As the drive to the unknown destination stretches on, you think back to the origin of his favorite pet name for you: Buttercup. The story isn’t a strenuous one. It began quite simply. One day, when he met you in the usual spot in the park, you were reading a rather curious book.

 

_“Whacha readin’?”_

_You snap the book shut as he sticks his nose in to see. “What does it look like I’m reading?”_

_“I don’t know. You didn’t let me see.”_

_Before you even offer him a seat, he slides into the bench beside you. Real close. Like he does. He slings an arm around your shoulders. “It’s a Dr. Seuss,” you confess._ “The Butter Battle Book.”

_His crimson eyes blink uncertainly. “What’s that?”_

_Your gape could fit a bowling ball. “You don’t know Dr. Seuss?!”_

_“Nope.”_

_“Everyone knows Dr. Seuss!”_

_“Not me. Guess he’s not awesome enough.”_

_You thwack him on the side of the head with the book. “That’s practically blasphemy!”_

_“Well if he’s so great, why don’t you show it to me?”_

_The question heats your cheeks. “Uhm… it’s a children’s book.”_

_“So?”_

_You look at him. Here, beside you, sits a man who appears to be in his early twenties but is actually closer to a millennium, and he’s exuding nonchalance over a children’s book. “Hm… well then… how about we read it together, out loud?”_

_Gilbert grins. “Sure, but this doctor better be as cool as you make him sound.”_

_The two of you read, taking turns in telling the tale of the great butter battle. The Yooks versus the Zooks.  See, the Yooks like to eat their bread butter side up, and the Zooks prefer to eat it butter side down. An awfully long wall splits their land in two, eternally dividing the archrivals. That is, at least until one side decides to poke the other… a great and terrible arms race ensues._

_The book fascinates Gilbert. He even puts his serious face on. “Y’know, (name), this sorta reminds me of the time I spent living at Ivan’s place… behind that damned wall, away from poor little Luddy. Those were probably the worst years of my life.”_

_You close the book slowly. “I know…I should have known better than to show you this. I’m sorry.”_

_He snaps up like a marionette. “No! No, don’t worry. It’s fine. I kind of like that funny little book. It makes the whole cold war thing sound so stupid.”_

_“Yeah, I think that’s what Dr. Seuss was going for. He was trying to make a point.”_

_“Well I think he made it. Too bad it didn’t change anything.”_

_You watch a trio of girls toss a tangerine Frisbee. “Maybe it did. How do we know for sure?”_

_“Good point.” His eyes track the path of the Frisbee, much like a dog’s would. “And I think I got a new name for you.”_

_“A new name? What would I do with a new name? My old one’s perfectly good enough.”_

_He snickers. “Kesese, that’s not what I meant.” He turns to you and holds out an imaginary sword. You roll your eyes._

_In an important-sounding voice, he declares, “From now on, I hereby dub thee ‘Buttercup,’ in commemoration of the momentous, never-ending butter battle between the tribes Yook and Zook.” He taps you once on each shoulder with his invisible blade._

_The Frisbee girls gawk._

_“Was that really necessary?” you ask, flatly amused._

_He sheaths his weapon. “You know you dig it, Buttercup.”_

You are brought back to the present by a rapid decrease in the Porsche’s speed.

“We’re almost there,” Gilbert announces.

He’s almost gurgling with excitement.

You look to your left. In the distance, occupying a significant plot of space and sky, is a massive, looping structure, full of metal spines and artificial ligaments. It twirls and glistens in the midday sun rays, greeting you with the distance echo of screams.

A rollercoaster.

“You brought me… to Six Flags?” you ask, as if doubting the picture before you.

Gilbert turns into the endless concrete field of parking spots. “Yup.”

“Without asking me beforehand?”

“Yup.”

“Using that money I saw you snitch from your brother?”

“Triple yup.”

A cloud of air whooshes through your lips. “Gilbert, you know how I feel about all three of those things.”

He squeezes the Porsche into a stall between a red minivan and black SUV. “Why must Americans always have such fat-assed cars?” he mutters, killing the ignition. He tilts his shaded head to you. “Now, what were you saying, Buttercup? Something about _not_ liking my awesome surprise?”

“Well, first of all, I’m terrified of rollercoasters. Second, I don’t appreciate having things sprung on me like that, and third, what kind of person steals from their little brother?”

He slaps a palm to the steering wheel. “For God’s sake, the kid’s richer than Warren Buffet! He’ll get by!”

“Did you not hear the first two offenses?”

Calming down, he replies, “Of course I heard them, Buttercup. I just don’t understand how anyone could be scared of something that’s been proven safe by industry professionals. And I couldn’t have told you beforehand. That’s the definition of a surprise.”

He exists the car and swings around to help you out, gentleman style. You refuse his assistance, preferring to stick it to him by opening your own shucking car door. You stick out your tongue for good measure.

“Hey now. I’m spending good money on you today,” he complains.

“Your _brother’s_ good money, you mean.”

He grumbles something unintelligible as he takes your arm and begins dragging you to your doom.

As you approach the entrance of the park, you spot its trademark six flags waving hello. Six flapping rectangles of stars and stripes, all boisterously proclaiming how proud they are to be in America. In _Great_ America. The greatest of the great amusement parks. With over sixty rides and countless other attractions, it’s the perfect feeding ground for thrill-seekers.

But you’re not a thrill-seeker.

“Come on, Buttercup! Stop being such a drag-butt!”

“Drag-butt? Never heard that one before.”

“That’s because I just made it up. Clever, huh?” His teeth glint pointedly.

“Very,” you grit.

He drags you past the welcome sign and closer to the strings of people waiting to get in. _Well, at least I’ll have some time to psyche myself up,_ you think.

No such luck.

Gilbert shuffles you _beyond_ all the long spindly lines and introduces you to a much shorter one. “I got me some _special_ tickets,” he says, waggling a set of shiny strips of paper in your face. “Flash passes. Immediate access to the park and several of the best rides. Pretty awesome, right? Go ahead, you can say it. Say that you worship me.”

You stare at him.

You hand your bag to the security official.

And then you stare at him some more.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt, do you understand nothing about my relationship with amusement parks?”

For once, he drops his narcissistic shimmer. In a stony tone, he says, “I know what you think, (name), but I was hoping I could change your mind today.”

As you grab your bag, he grabs your hand, and together you enter a world paved of spiraling shrieks, cotton candy, and the cheesiest gimmicks known to man. The very air makes your head spin.

“I promise we’ll start slow,” he says.

“And what is your definition of ‘slow,’ exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

The first thing you spy on the other side of the entrance corrals is a small reflection pool. Ha. Reflection pool. The name of the thing always makes you laugh. How can a pool produce a reflection if it’s filled to the brim with scum?

Anyway, on the far side of this pool is a jolly carousel, two stories, with plenty of room for little boys and girls to ride animals of all sorts. Faint cackling music prances in hazy clouds all around it, adding notes of whimsy to your otherwise dread-deadened mind. Almost as if something is mocking you.

An idea springs in your mind.

“Hey, Gil, what do you say with start with the carousel?” you suggest, smiling slyly.

His head snaps like a whip. “What? Are you serious?! No way. The Awesome Me does _not_ ride little pink ponies.”

“You said we’d start slow…”

“I didn’t mean _that_ slow.”

“They have things besides little pink ponies. What about a nice zebra? Or an ostrich?”

“You’re not helping your case, Buttercup.”

“Come on,” you say, taking him by the arm to show him how _he_ liked being touted around.

Somehow, impossibly, you manage to shove him in line. And somehow, impossibly, you manage to strap him seated and secure on an ornately painted bear. You find a place a few animals behind, selecting a saddled cheetah as your plastic steed of choice. Grinning in triumph all the while, you complete several orbits before the ride comes to a stop.

Gilbert leaps off his bear like it’s made of solid nitrogen. You whip out your camera to document his magnificent expression. Pure mortification.

He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed.

“How’d you like it?” you ask him. “How’d you like getting dragged into something you have no interest in?”  
            “No interest in?!! That was more a matter of life and death! What if Francis or Tony saw that? I’d be screwed!  All the Countries from here to Oceania would know, and I’d never live it down!”

You simply smile. “So, you didn’t like it, is that what I’m hearing? That’s exactly how I feel.”

He pauses his arm flailing. “That’s different.”

“Not really.”

Gilbert steps over and squeezes you by the shoulders. “C’mere. No sour pickles allowed in Six Flags. I’ll even let you choose your first coaster.” He pecks your forehead lightly. “Sound like a plan?”

You try to huff and puff, but it’s so hard to act difficult when he’s being so… sentimental. And… sensitive. For a change. It makes your fear-hardened heart melt, just a lick. “Alright. Fine. What are my options?”

He performs a complex ritual of extravagant fist pumps in celebration. Any passerby would think he was suffering from some sort of defunct seizure. Then he gets down to business. He flourishes open a map of the park and points out all the biggest rides.

“This one here is the Raging Bull. And way up there’s the American Eagle….ugh. Don’t choose that one, please. It’s got Alfred’s name on it, and no one is allowed to name things after themselves except me.” You whap him with your bag. “Over _here,_ we have X Flight… that one’s pretty nice. That there in the corner is Superman…and next to it is the Dark Knight. In the middle, there’s the Demon, a classic…” He glances up at the boiling grey sky. “But make it snappy, okay, chickie? It’s looking like it might rain now.”

“Huh. Imagine that. My prayers have been answered,” you smirk.

“Don’t get too excited. This park doesn’t shut down unless there’s lightning, so until then we’re not leaving.”

You groan.

“So, make your choice, or else you’ll be going at it in the rain!”

“Fine. I choose… that one.” You point to a moderately-sized tangle of blue spaghetti in the lower center.

“ _That_ one?! That’s the Whizzer. That’s just about the lamest ride you can get without being on a kiddie coaster.”

“Perfect. Take me to it.”

He hisses a sigh as he folds up the map. “The things I do for love…”

 

 

The pair of you arrives at the Whizzer with a moderate line barring your way. Tweens and their younger siblings, mostly. You can see why Gilbert thinks this is almost a kids’ ride. But you regret nothing. You’re reluctant to try even this one.

Gilbert stumbles into line like a rumbling thundercloud. The group of kids in front of you cast him edgy glances.

“Come now, Gil. You’re scaring the little kids,” you cajole.

“Good. Because this ride sure won’t,” he retorts.

The kids are not amused.

As you wait, you eye your enemy with prudence. Your eyes track the progress of the navy blue coaster as it zips around its rails. You crane your ears for the sound of terrified screams, but none are to be heard. How odd. You’d think at least _someone_ would share your highly logical fears.

What particularly troubles you is that wicked-looking spiral in the track.

When the line dwindles to nothing, you and Gilbert swipe your wristbands and step up to the ride, you with brick feet and he with his thunderhead. He finds an empty car and SIIIIIIGHS, earning several unappreciative glares from the surrounding parents. He crosses his arms and sinks into the seat, he bottom lip jutting out like Pinocchio’s nose.

You slide in beside him. “Remember to buckle your seat belt.”

“This thing doesn’t require a seat belt!”

“Yes, it does,” says a park official, checking to make sure his is really fastened. “Have a nice ride, sir.”

“ _You_ have a nice ride!”

You can’t help it. You crack a smile. It shouldn’t be, but it’s just so amusing watching your boyfriend throw a tantrum like a spoiled child. It helps shift your mind off your approaching demise.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” a peppy park official booms over the in-ride PA. “Are you ready to ride the rippin’ zippin’ Whizzer?”

“Oookay then.  Please remember to keep your arms and legs and all other appendages inside the moving vehicle at all times. If you have any loose items – bags, purses, sunglasses, hats – please stow them in the provided compartments near the exit. Now, fasten your seat belts and get ready for the Whizzer, the world’s _only_ ascending spiral coaster~!”

With that, the ride jerks forward.

“We’re off, Gil,” you say through clenched teeth. You grip the sides of the car with alabaster knuckles.

“Oh really? I didn’t even notice.”

“Very funny.”

The ride continues its gradual journey forward. It takes you up, up, up… and then it stops. _Huh,_ you think _I would have expected that to take longer. To mount the dread._

But before you can wonder any further, the train peaks the hump, and gravity inserts its claws, reeling you back to earth. Behind you, a small child shrieks, but only one. The rest of the passengers are strangely silent, and oddly, so are you. _Aren’t I supposed to scream?_

The coaster continues on its way, almost scraping the ground as it dips. Then it sends you rocketing skyward, looping you around in an endless trail of circles. It tears at your sense of direction.

_Seriously… isn’t this supposed to be… scarier?_ You check on Gilbert. His lower lip is still sticking out like a peninsula. _Maybe if I raise my arms…_

You do so, and the wind shudders past it just as it does when you ride in Gilbert’s convertible, but it does nothing to add to the fear factor, In fact, riding in Gilbert’s _car_  is more terrifying that this!

You put your arms down, not wanting to look like a freak – he does enough of that for the two of you. The coaster takes you through another spiral, one of the ascending ones the park official was raving about. It’s nothing special, just a bunch of sideways loop-de-loops.

Before you know it, your first rollercoaster ride has ended.

You want to say, “That’s _it?_ ” but you can’t risk Gil teasing you with a smug grin. Instead, you say nothing, pretending to shakily free yourself from the seat belt. You walk unsteadily to retrieve your purse, hoping you’re selling it well enough.

Gilbert says nothing until you’re a good distance away from the Whizzer and all those judgmental little children. “So, how’d it go?”

You pretend to quiver your lip. “How do you think?”

“Well, for me, it was pretty boring, but you say you’re afraid of rollercoasters, soo…”

You can’t take it. You throw off the act, straightening your lip and snapping out of your fearful eyes. “Actually, you’re right. It _was_ rather dull.”

He double takes. “R-really? You agree with me?! But you said you hated coasters!”

“That was because I’d never _been_ on one before. Now I see how silly I was to be scared of them.”

Gilbert catches a funny look in his eyes at this. “Well, I wouldn’t decide that just yet…after all, the Whizzer isn’t even a real coaster. Now, I’ll take you to a real coaster!”

He grins demonically and snatches your wrist, tugging you across Hometown Square to the right, through a little covered bridge. When you emerge, you have traveled a good six hundred miles south. You’re in Southwest Territory.

“So, where is the sucker?” you ask him.

“That one, right over there,” he replies, pointing to a hulking mass of flaming orange confusion. On this one, you can _definitely_ hear the threading screams.

“’The Raging Bull,’” you say, reading the sign over the entrance.

“Yup. There she blows.” He tugs at your sleeve. “Come on. That rain cloud’s looking angry.”

You glance up at the sky. The wetness is holding off for now, but it looks like there’s a battle to be had. You steel yourself and follow Gilbert to the crowd corral.

The waiting line is a considerable distance longer than the one at the Whizzer. Long enough to make you rethink your hastiness. As you watch the coaster zip by overhead at breakneck speed, your old worries rear their ugly faces. Maybe you should have asked him to pick a different one…

“Hey Natalie,” a girl with brown pigtails pokes her friend. “Did you know that this is the longest, fastest, AND tallest rollercoaster in Great America?”

You gulp.

“No, I didn’t know that,” Natalie says. “No wonder we love it so much!”

The two girls giggle and titter with anticipation. Behind them, you giggle and titter with nerves. How can anyone in their right mind get so _excited_ by the prospect of losing a limb?

“This time, I’m actually looking forward to it,” Gilbert says, hugging you from behind.

“Heh, yeah. I’m glad…” you respond. _Am I the only sane one here?_

The line, long though it is, inches ever so slowly forward. With each foot gained, your anxiety tightens. Wild thoughts blossom like weeds in your mind, nagging you with their possibilities. _What if we derail? What if my harness comes loose? What if we get stuck at the top?_

Gilbert does nothing to soothe. He’s like a boy with his first gun. Excited to the roots, but dangerous to those around him. He can’t stop bouncing.

“This is going to be _so awesome~!”_ he exclaims as you reach the home stretch and enter the loading cell. This is it. Next time, you’re up.

“Thank you for not being a wimp, Buttercup,” he says, squeezing your hand.

“Hmm. You’re welcome,” you rely absently. Your mind is currently occupied by other thoughts. Life and death thoughts.

As the coaster returns, sliding back into park to let off its rattled customers, you almost turn around and walk out. But you can’t. Gilbert is in the way.

            Instead, you resign yourself to your fate, slipping into one of the ride’s individualized plastic harnesses and letting the park officials strap you in. Gilbert gets in beside you, and beside him are the sugar-high girls you had eavesdropped on in the line. They’re still stoked, as is your boyfriend, who looks as if he might vibrate out of his harness, he’s bouncing so much. But you remain perfectly still. Perfectly calm. This is how you weather through any storm.

 

 

 

“That was SOOO AWESOME!!” you yell, piercing the air with double fists.

Gilbert staggers next to you with a look of incredulity. “Glad you liked it, Buttercup.”

“Yes! Now I want MORE!”

He smiles. “That can be arranged.”

But before he can crack open his omnipotent map, you feel a drop on your shoulder. You let your arms clatter to your sides as you look up to the sky in disbelief. The raindrops are like little hammers, each one beating another blow into your newfound enthusiasm. “Come on,” you groan.

And the downpour begins.

Zipping up your ragdoll green hoodie, you and Gilbert make a mad dash to the nearest covered bridge, all the way over at the entrance to Hometown Square. Scores of other fairgoers join you there, and the place smells irrevocably of wet humans and rainy cement.

“Don’t worry. They won’t close the rides unless they see lightning,” Gilbert comforts you.

A snake of lightning darts its forked tongue.

Thunder howls.

He deadpans. “Hm. I guess they closed the rides.”

Some of the people huddling beneath the covered bridge begin trickling their way out, bolting beneath plastic ponchos and windswept umbrellas toward the entrance to the park. You and Gilbert and a few other diehards stay behind.

“How long do you think this’ll keep up?” you ask, leaning into him for warmth.

“Not long. Downpours only last an hour or so, right?”

“Right,” chimes a nearby thrill junkie with a lip ring.

“See? There you go. Even the professionals agree.”

You crack a grin. “So, what can we do to pass the time?”

His own grin sparks in response. “Plenty.”

With that, he leans down and kisses you. Grin to grin, shining rain, and the faint scent of funnel cake.

 

 

“The lightning’s gone. The rides are open again,” announces the same thrill junkie after a spell. She walks over to your entwined huddle and raps you on the shoulder. “Hey. Lovebirds. It’s safe to exit the cave.”

You spring apart from Gilbert, your cheeks a pair of posies. “Th-thank you…uhm, sorry…”

“No need to apologize,” Lip Ring winks, stepping out into the rain.

“So, Gil. Where to?” you ask.

He rubs his sanguine eyes and stretches. Yawning, “Nnn… I dunno. Wherever ya want, Buttercup.”

You pull up the water-battered map. You study it for a moment, then another, then another. Eventually, you shove the whole thing aside and say, “How about we just try them all?”

Gilbert pops up like Jack from his box. “Sounds _awesome!_ Let’s do it!”

He bounds out of the covered bridge, with you towing close behind.

The rain continues to beat its intricate rhythm.

 

 

Four hours later, you’ve done it. Every single rollercoaster in Great America conquered (except the American Eagle, Gilbert reminds you). And not once did the rain let up. But luckily enough, the lightning did not return for another visit.

Using the map, you review the list in your buzzing brain.

_Superman…check. X Flight…check. Viper…check. Ragin’ Cajun… check. Demon… check. The Dark Knight… check._

“I think that’s all of them,” you say to Gil.

He doesn’t answer right away. His mouth is chock full of cotton candy, so stuffed he can’t close his lips. You wait for him to chew, then swallow, trying not to get too close. “Except one,” he finally says.

You blink. “Which one did we miss?”

“Batman. The Ride.”

“Where’s that at?”

He jabs a sticky multicolored finger at a section of the map. It’s up near the top, close to the American Eagle. “It’s in Yankee Harbor.” He spits. “Gods. Could Alfred get any more narcissistic with this place?”

“You’re one to talk.” _I’m surprised you even know that word…_

“Yeah, well.”

“I’m just surprised he doesn’t have a Captain America ride.”

“Good point, Buttercup. Let’s be thankful that he doesn’t.”

“Anyway, we’re in Orleans Place now...so, that means, to get to Yankee Harbor, we go… this way.” You point to the right. “Past the carousel.”

Gilbert moans.

“Stop your whining. I’m not going to make you ride it again. And I’ll buy you more cotton candy if you don’t make a fuss.”

He lights up at this. “Candy~!”

You smile and roll your eyes, in one motion. Around him, the two gestures basically mean the same thing. You hook him by the arm and begin leading the way. Funny. Just a few hours ago, your positions had been swapped.

 

When you reach Batman, a bundle of more cotton candy in hand, the place looks like a ghost coaster. No one is there. Not even Lip Ring or the sugar-hyped girlfriends.

“Have they closed the rides again?” you ask Gilbert.

He shrugs.

“Nope. The rides aren’t closed,” a passing park official says. “There’s just no one here. No one likes to ride a coaster in the rain. They think it’s unsafe or something.”  She leans in close, a whispering hand to the side of her mouth. “But if you want my advice, now’s the best time to go. There’s no line. No wait.” She claps you on the shoulder. “Have fun, kids.”

When the park official is out of earshot, you and Gilbert exchange snickers. “ _Kids?”_ you snort. “How old do we look?”

Then you remember you king-sized rainbow tufts.

Only children buy cotton candy in quantities of this size.

You burst another cloud of laughter. “We do look pretty silly, don’t we?” you say to Gilbert.

He stops laughing. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I look just as awesome as ever!”

“Hey now. Say any more and I may be forced to relinquish your cotton candy.”

“I kid, Buttercup, I kid. Now whaddya say we hit our last coaster and call it a day?”

“Sounds like a plan, Gil,” you say, plucking a tuft of candy and popping it in your mouth. Together, the two of you make your way through the boundless fields of vacant cattle ropes, up a staircase, throw a winding hallway, and into the hangar of the legendary Batman.

Even up here, there’s barely anyone.

“Step right up, step right up,” calls a park official. The same official, you realize, who had been manning the Whizzer when you had ridden it. “The ride is running and there’s nobody here, so step right up and give a cheer~”

Some of his colleagues fill the background with groans.

You obey his little couplet, though, and step right up to the waiting harnesses, which are suspended from the track overhead. The peppy park official bounces over to strap you into place. After he finishes Gilbert, he gets in your face and rasps, “Why so _serious?”_

You can’t stop cackling the whole way through the ride.

 

 

After the first time through the Batman, you and Gilbert decide you don’t yet want to leave. So, since there is no one else around to take a turn, you and he deign to take another spin. And another. And another. Until you have ridden the Batman eight times in a row without stopping. All in the rain. With bee stinger droplets in your face.

Eight times.

In a little ducky row.

By then, Six Flags is close to closing for the day, so Gilbert leads you out. He takes you past all the coasters you rode, letting you pause for a moment of nostalgia in front of the Whizzer, which you have officially decided is quite lame, but important nonetheless. You learned a lot today thanks to it. And thanks to Gil, who managed to yank you into yet another hair-brained scheme.

            Driving along the dusky, rain-trodden freeway (with the Porsche’s top _on,_ of course), you think back to the prickly fear and dread that laced your body earlier, before you had gone on the Whizzer. _I was foolish…_ you think.

            But you never would have thought that without help.

            You lean your head against his shoulder and close your eyes.

 

 

 

 

           

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> One of my most treasured memories is the rainy day I spent at Six Flags with one of my best friends, and so I dedicate this fic to that day. Ps: we really did ride the Batman coaster eight times in a row without getting off.


End file.
